“Sorry to trouble you again, Mr. Pyke, but I want to ask you for a little further help in this Ashburton affair. I have made a discovery, but first I must ask you to keep what I have to say to yourself.”
Pyke nodded.
“Of course, Mr. French. Sit down, won’t you, and tell me what I can do for you.”
“All I want is a little information,” French declared, taking the proffered chair. “I may tell you between ourselves that certain facts suggest that Colonel Domlio may have been involved. Can you tell me anything that might help me to a decision, anything that your cousin told you or that Mr. Berlyn may have said in your presence?”
Pyke shook his head.
“Colonel Domlio?” he repeated. “Why, no! I never thought of such a thing, and neither Stanley nor Berlyn ever said anything to suggest it.”
French continued to question him long enough to convince him that this was really the business on which he had called. Then he tried to discount the effect which Mrs. Berlyn’s note would have when at last the man had an opportunity to read it.
“I’ve been to see Mrs. Berlyn on this matter,” he explained. “I’m afraid I was rather rude to her, but I just had to frighten her in order to satisfy myself as to whether or not she suspected the colonel. But at least I apologised afterward. I think she forgave me.”
“And did she suspect Domlio?”
“No, I’m sure she did not. And that counts in the colonel’s favour, for she knew him pretty well. Aren’t you thankful you’re not a detective, Mr. Pyke?”